The Fire In Her Blood
by El Barto 227
Summary: Oneshot. Something I wrote to practice my writing and decided to share. Erissa Fireblood, my Altmeri Dragonborn, retreats to the Throat of the World to sort out her head, and learns her true name. Reviews are helpful, since I'm looking for some critique here about what I did right, and what I did wrong.


_The beginning of wisdom is to call things by their right name._

\- Chinese proverb

* * *

High, high above the ground most mortals rarely left, a solitary figure sat in front of a stone wall. She was wrapped in furs to keep her warm, and at her feet was a leather knapsack filled with supplies to last a day or two. On her lap was a pitch black bow, while another bow - this one made of dwarven metal - rested on the ground next to the pack of supplies.

Erissa Fireblood's long and fiery auburn hair was dotted with snowflakes, as if she had been sitting there for quite some time. It reached down past her shoulders, stopping just below them. Green eyes flecked with gold stared off into space. Even for an Altmer, she was tall.

After what must have been hours, she raised a hand and held it in front of her. Gloved, of course, and soaked with still-warm blood. A wave of nausea and panic hit her, but she resisted and managed to stay calm. She closed her eyes for a moment, focusing on what she knew was true and the cold air around her. When she opened them again, her hand was clean. A hallucination, and yet another piece of proof that Erissa was losing her mind.

This one of the reasons she was here. Erissa Fireblood had reached a breaking point.

How many people had she killed? Many were self-defence, true, but that didn't change the fact that she had killed them in cold blood, driven by the innate need to dominate given by her dragon soul or the promise of rewards.

Erissa was crumbling under the titanic amounts of stress, pressure and trauma she had experienced. She saw things that weren't real, and frequently woke up screaming due to nightmares. The Dragonborn had made the long trek up here to meditate where she would not be bothered. While the Throat of the World was isolated, there was one other reason that superseded that.

Yol. Fire.

That word in particular had always resonated within her. Of all the shouts she knew, none were stronger than the flames she could create in the heat of battle.

Erissa knew she herself had a lot of similarities to fire. Quick, passionate, destructive. Fire burned what it pleased, when it did. Fire didn't care.

"Is this what I want? To stop caring?" She said to herself.

No. That was a difference. Each and every life she took affected her, and she carried that burden willingly. The scars that covered her body attested to the ordeals she had been through.

Besides the bows, Erissa had taken a carefully sharpened knife.

Being a hero always sounds great. In reality, it was painful, risky, and traumatic. She couldn't take it anymore, parading around and being forced to put on a strong facade for the people to see, being pulled every which way by people seeking to manipulate or exploit her status, constantly challenged by dragons and warriors alike. Used to fulfil a destiny and then discarded.

A quick cut was all it would take. She'd fall over and be buried by the falling snow. Her troubles would be over. She wasn't a limited edition, either. Her childhood friend, a Khajiit named Kerdo, also had the supposed blessing of being Dragonborn. He could surely continue the fight against Alduin without her.

She didn't know what to do. And so she had come up here to think, and the sky was slowly beginning to brighten as dawn approached.

Erissa knew what would be happening below. Aela would have woken to find her lover missing. She'd walk through the house, trying to find Erissa without waking Runa and Hroar, their adopted children. She'd worry when Erissa could not be found, but it would be a while before anyone began to panic. Kerdo would stay calm the whole time, and reassure the children. Of course, he would worry too, but he wouldn't show it. He'd be the one to suggest this place. He'd Shout her draconic name in an attempt to get her attention, but would fail. There was something wrong with it, she thought. They had been so sure, but still it had barely worked.

Joor Orkiin Yol.

Joor. Mortal. Indisputable, this applied to her. She wasn't a true dragon, despite her nature and abilities. She was still in a mortal body, and had it's weaknesses. It also told the dragons something she considered important.

_You're all being taken down by a puny elf._

Orkiin. Reborn. A word steeped in meaning and history, dating back over a thousand years. Erissa knew that her ancestor, Iroril Fireblood, had made a pact with Akatosh to be reborn through his descendants whenever Tamriel needed a hero. In this incarnation, due to the problematic requirement of a dragon's soul, he manifested as a guardian spirit at times. Even now she could sense him, not quite here but still watching her. Kerdo had a similar situation, and it seemed that the two heroes were bound to meet and join forces whenever they were reborn again. Erissa and Kerdo -joororkiinyol and joororkiiniiz- were as different as fire and ice, but inseparable friends who would trust each other with their lives, and without the slightest hesitation.

She was just the latest incarnation of an ancient hero, and she upheld that duty as best as she could. The pitch black bow on her lap, humming with power, was his. Iroril's. She had yet to use it, but she kept it with her until the day she could pull it back fully and fire.

Yol. Fire. Change, passion, power, destruction, she certainly embodied all of those in one way or another. As she had thought earlier, there was something wrong there. It seemed accurate, but the word always felt forced, as if a key fit the lock, but didn't turn it. An identity crisis was the last thing she needed right now, so she resolved to solve that problem first. Thinking of the spirit that watched her, Erissa used a shout taught to her by the Greybeards.

"Fiik, LO SAH! **[Mirror Deceive Phantom!]**" she shouted, and magic rippled from her mouth. When Erissa and Kerdo had first learned about the Voice, the Greybeards had used this shout, Phantom Form, to create ghostly copies of themselves for target practice. It enveloped her, and then withdrew and pooled in front of her, forming a spirit.

A tall Altmer male was the result. His leather armour bore the crest of a long-dead dominion, and his stern face regarded her uncertainly. The spirit that should have been bound to her body instead of the dragon's.

"You wanted to speak with me, child?" Iroril asked, unfazed by the cold he probably couldn't even notice.

"Child?!"

"You are young, by our standards,"

"Hmph. I'm not here for a lecture, Iroril,"

"And I am not here to lecture you,"

"Then help me. The magic will fade away soon,"

"You want me to tell you what your name is? I can't. I don't know you all that well, Erissa," he said "but that doesn't mean I haven't been watching, and seen a few things you've missed,"

"What? What have I missed!?" She said, almost yelling in desperation.

He simply looked at her, beginning to fade. "An Imperial saying my mother liked to use when I was young. Too focused on the dark of night to see the light of dawn approach," Iroril said. As he turned to the rising sun, which had only just started to peek above the horizon. "That's especially relevant here," he said as he faded away fully. Erissa made an annoyed grunt and kicked at the snow, sending some flying. "That was useless," she grumbled, but she thought about it anyway. He was probably telling her to look on the bright side. But what bright side?

The sky on the horizon was beautiful, she noticed. Streaks of pink and orange hinted at the sun about to rise, and it was quite a sight to behold, and she only had to turn to see the moons contrasting the rising sun. It looked like the sky was on fire from up here…

Something clicked. The sky on fire…

"Drem Yol Lok, [Peace Fire Sky]" she whispered. The dragon greeting. Maybe this sort of peaceful moment had inspired it, just as it was inspiring her.

Righteous anger. Brilliance and passion. Hope and kindness that shone brighter than any darkness. Heat, Light. The components of fire, but also so much more. The symbolism was dawning on her, as dawn fell on Skyrim.

One of the Dragonborn, the hopes of a nation. A protector from the pitch black dragon whose wings and hunger would engulf the world. An Altmer woman whose veins boiled with righteous fury and conviction. Kind, caring and empathic.

Joor Orkiin Yol and Joor Orkiin Iiz **[Mortal Reborn Ice] **had been wrong all along. She was so much more than a meager flame. Erissa Fireblood shone brightly like the sun that lit this world.

Joor Orkiin Shul. Mortal Reborn Sun. That was who she was. Deeply flawed and tormented, but a leader. A saviour. A hero who, despite knowing it could kill her, threw herself into harm's way for the sake of protecting the people who could not protect themselves.

Joor Orkiin Iilah, Mortal Reborn Moon. As much as she was more than a flame, her Khajiit companion was much more than mere ice.

She had found her true name, and this time the lock turned, and warmth flowed through the scared elf. She understood herself now, and the weight she carried on her shoulders was beginning to lift. Erissa turned to face the new day with renewed vigour, then struck the knife into the ground before getting up and walking back down the mountain.

To give up like that was the cruellest betrayal she could imagine, to both her loved ones, and to the world that she had sworn to protect.


End file.
